


In My Sights

by snarechan



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Clonecest, Humor, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-26
Updated: 2010-12-26
Packaged: 2017-10-21 05:11:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/221294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarechan/pseuds/snarechan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sniper has everything figured out, or at least sometimes he thinks he does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In My Sights

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nri_ennui](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=nri_ennui).



> This was a surprise!gift for Nri. As a dear friend of mine, I wanted to be sure I had a story to present come the holidays, so I wrote this random thing up. It was really challenging to write a fanfic where both characters essentially have the same 'name', hah hah.

Living quarters were tight at the RED team’s base, but none were as claustrophobic as the RV the two snipers were forced to share. The unit was not intended for two full grown men to dwell in daily and combined with their possessions there wasn’t much room to function. Certain property was forced, by necessity, to migrate to the outdoors, but the climate did not lend itself to belongings being left out in the open, nevermind the chance of someone taking advantage of their stuff lying around unprotected.

The original owner and caretaker was disgruntled at having to share his private quarters. When the other sniper arrived, there was nowhere left to crash. Scout had already claimed the rec room couch, and the bunks were over-packed.

When Engineer suggested he put the newcomer up, he _wanted_ to refuse, since he was very particular about his personal space and didn’t know the greenhorn in the slightest. He hadn’t survived as long as he had by allowing just anybody near him. Permitting someone that close for extended periods of time was uncharted territory for him. In the end, however, he agreed, since at least it was someone of Sniper’s profession. He assumed they would understand why he did the things he did and would want to keep their distance, too.

Except the recruit was _really_ new – he hadn't been in the field longer than a year and was hardly experienced for it. On top of providing housing, he ended up training the rascal on the job. The sniper that was an addition to their team couldn’t have been more opposite from him: he was eager – which would have complimented what skill he possessed if it didn’t give him such a hair-trigger – and easily distracted.

There was also the matter of actually teaching his teammate, since Sniper had never been granted the opportunity to guide another before, and neither had he apprenticed himself. He’d learned how to do his job firsthand and through strict regimens of trial-and-error; it was obvious from early on that his combat style was vastly different from the new sniper’s own way of doing things. Trying to explain poise and instill patience in someone who wasn’t accustomed to using it was like trying to wrestle in a tank full of stingrays.

That, and waking him up in the morning was a total pain, too.

At the sound of an alarm going off, a kukri crept out from under the bedcovers. It knocked the clock off its perch, across the small camper and into the wall, where it let out its last keen and shut off as it hit the floor. Sniper, who had woken at dawn, was unfazed by the display his bunkmate made every morning and continued to sip his coffee while reading the paper. He granted the other sniper five extra minutes of rest before getting to his feet, stretching as far as the van would allow, and wrenching the bed sheets off the only mattress in the small compartment.

“Up and at ’em, Joey,” he commanded, making his gruff voice just that much louder than normal to try and rouse the man.

The inexperienced sniper was lying across the bed with his head practically hanging off the foot of it, his body somehow always managing to rearrange through the night so that his feet rested on the pillow. His hat was placed on the back of his head since he fell asleep on his front.

“Don’t call me Joey,” the sniper groused into the mattress, unmoving.

“I will when you stop acting like a baby ‘roo, now come on,” Sniper said. He grabbed their sole mug with the printed ‘#1 SNIPER’ across its white surface and refilled it with coffee to place on the countertop nearest the greenhorn’s head. Due to the limited space, they tended to have to share items, because wasting it on duplicates was out of the question. The smell didn’t always rouse him faster, which was when Sniper would grab the man’s headgear and smack him around a little until he got the hint.

“Alright, _alright,_ I’m up,” he said, grumbling and rolling over to catch his hat mid-strike. His reflexes were improving at least, if he was able to stop the assault with minimum effort and remaining half asleep despite the man’s protests to the contrary. “Crikey, it’s a shame when a gent can’t get a well-earned rest in this day and age.”

“Then stop hanging out with those blokes until ten at night,” Sniper reprimanded him, finding it unprincipled that a person of their vocation wouldn't keep the job in mind at all times. Partying at such an hour was unprofessional.

It was nearing seven AM, speaking of the time, and preparations for the battle ahead would soon be underway. Sniper picked up the man’s boots and tossed them within his reach.

“Freshen up and let’s get a move on. We’re-”

“Burnin’ daylight. Don’t you worry, mate. I know,” the novice said, grabbing the cup of coffee on his way to the sink to shave. He tossed in a wink as he adjusted his hat, causing Sniper to grunt in exasperation. He was accustomed to that sort of behavior, too.

* * *

“You’re aiming too high again, Joey,” Sniper advised, capable of noticing the slight without needing to divert his attention from his own shot to know his inexperienced counterpart was back to his bad habits.

“The name’s not Joey,” he amended, also like clockwork, but the obvious signs of him correcting his aim could be heard. He let off a shot, and a shout originating from an enemy Scout was distinguishable, but it wasn’t a death cry. The new recruit released a mild hiss of displeasure at the blunder.

“What’ve you learned?” he asked, managing to pose the question without an ounce of patronization in his tone. If he wanted this affiliation to succeed, then he’d have to respect his fellow sniper, even when he fragged up.

“That the boy is more unwieldy than an incensed death adder?”

“You need to shoot ahead of his path if you intend on putting him out of commission.”

The other sniper snorted, as he said, “I don’t think even he knows where he’s going the majority of the time.”

Sniper did smirk a little at that, not willing to refute that claim entirely.

“He’s got the instincts of any soldier; best not to underestimate the ankle-biter and concentrate on where his feet are going.”

“You know a lot about these blokes,” the man said, in the middle of cocking his gun and getting into position again. “How long you been doing this?”

Though it wasn't his intention, he hesitated at the intimate inquiry. No one on the RED squad went into individual details concerning their exclusive lives – past or present – unless they were Soldier and recounted every combat sequence they’d encountered. The sudden questioning into his existence, however minor, threw him off so badly that he missed his chance to headshot an incoming BLU Heavy. He recovered in time to get the medic trailing him, instead.

“Long enough,” he answered at last, cryptic.

Sniper was spared any further line of questioning by the alarm sounding, signaling that the morning round was finished. Without hesitation, he reached over and angled the new recruit’s gun upwards as his trigger finger twitched in blatant shock. He was unaccustomed to the loud noise and tended to startle, letting off on whoever was unfortunate to be in his sights at the time – usually one of their own teammates, if he switched to support.

“Bloody _nuisance,_ ” the inexperienced sniper said with distaste, reloading his gun without paying attention.

Sniper didn’t comment on the incident, but offered a consoling pat on the man’s shoulder.

“Give yourself time,” he said and headed to the hatch that would lead to a stairway down from their hidden perch. “Let’s relocate and eat. We still got some of that owl you hunted from last week.”

There came a noncommittal sound from his teammate, but at the promise of food it wasn’t long before he was following his mentor. When it came to hunting game, the other sniper’s marksmanship was almost on par with any experienced assassin employed by BLU or RED – it was just people that gave him problems. Sniper understood, even if the other man couldn’t yet: That, too, would simply take time to change.

 _Provided he survived that long._

* * *

The battle had recommenced. There were men roaming every inch of the battlefield, and Sniper was having difficulty distinguishing between individuals with authentic RED uniforms and those whose clothes were dyed with blood. He was breaking into a sweat with how hard he had to focus on eliminating their opponents. The frontal assault the BLUs issued was possibly in retaliation of the lost match earlier. They wanted to overwhelm ground forces and confuse the rest. Such a tactic was deadly and effective, or so Sniper tried to convince himself.

His charge hadn’t returned at the countdown, meaning he was either disposed of already – a likelihood he refused to advocate, but reluctantly acknowledged because the enemy fought _dirty_ – or he was amongst the fray. He zoomed in on the lower levels with his scope and blasted any target that got in his view, wracking up his kill roster faster than he had in months.

Sniper utilized his knowledge as a huntsman to analyze every visible crevice, and his perseverance was rewarded. The novice was cornered – wedged between a tall, metal structure, some mounds of rocks and an Engineer’s sentry. _What happened to the wanker's gun?_ he thought, distressed at noting the other sniper was using his bow and not his rifle. There was a litter of bodies surrounding the holdout that resembled pincushions, demonstrating that he’d put up a grand fight, but arrows were useless against machines. He was a sitting duck.

Steeling his jaw, Sniper locked and loaded, then let the mechanic and his toy have it. The Engineer was the first to have it in the skull, then he fired a bullet directly in the sentry’s muzzle. As it fired its next shot simultaneously, it exploded in a shower of sparks and shrapnel. He stared into his crosshair a moment longer to ensure neither the machine nor its tinkerer would be getting up a second time, then turned his attention to his colleague. The man at least had the smarts to check his immediate surroundings and dispose of the incoming Pyro before rushing to his feet and removing his hat. He took an exaggerated bow with it in Sniper’s direction to demonstrate his gratitude. Someday, such behavior might be considered satisfactory, but for now Sniper shook his head in bemusement at the man’s show of arrogance.

He motioned with his hands for the greenhorn to hurry back to his post when…a _shift_ came over the other sniper; his countenance became eerily blank. The lack of expression was one Sniper recognized – it was the same one he saw in the mirror after tough excursions of the murderous sort. Such a look crossed many faces of the people here, including the greenhorn’s on occasion, like when he hunted serious game.

Now, that stare was directed at _him._

He took a step back in alarm at the same moment the gunman let fly an arrow. Two thoughts came to him in that space between events. The first was the saying that’s passed along by the people of their trade: _prepare to kill everyone you meet._ It’s not something a person was taught or told, but learned through lethal life lessons that remind each one of them the reality of their professions. Individuals like them didn’t make friends or acquaintances. Allies could turn on you like a dog that bites the hand that feeds them. For some reason, he’d forgotten that cardinal rule and now it’d returned to haunt him.

The second thought was that the RED sniper’s aim was off. _Again._

He lurched to the side unthinkingly, though the action wasn’t strictly necessary. If the man had intended to strike a vital area, he missed by a reasonable margin. Sniper slammed into the wall of his hiding spot and examined himself for marks, but the rustle of another body hitting the floor beside him caused him to jump. An enemy spy had snuck into his blind spot without a sound and attempted to stab him in the back.

He stared at the dead body with the projectile sticking out from between its eyes and then to his right, where he could see his teammate. He hadn’t moved; he was staring intently at his spot, but something about him loosened when he saw that Sniper was alright. He nodded his head in thanks and, for once, the novice didn’t make an exaggerated show of acknowledging the gesture.

* * *

Later that night, the atmosphere in the camper was odd. Not tense, but profound, where it was normally laid back.

Sniper was lying in bed, unable to sleep. He hadn’t bothered to change out of his uniform – not that he required to be out of it to fall asleep – and had gotten as far as removing his shoes. He’d discarded his hat on the hook with the others and tossed his arm across his eyes.

There was some surprise when the door opened to admit the other sniper inside, a minimum of three hours earlier than when he’d normally appear. Removing the limb to get a good bead on him, the sniper remained standing in the entrance, clutching his hat in both hands in front of him.

“Close the door, you’re letting in the mosquitoes,” Sniper said at last, breaking the silence. It was a weak attempt at conversation, but it was all they had.

His bunkmate wordlessly closed the door, still holding his hat and appearing uncertain.

“What kept you?” he asked, the question coming out more accusatory than Sniper had intended.

“Had a phone call.”

That was the end of that. Sniper refused to push the issue. He could empathize, assuming the other man’s discussions were anything like his – which they no doubt were, if the phone call had kept him engaged long enough to almost miss the afternoon match. Family was a sore topic for everybody.

Then the ridiculousness of the whole situation struck him, and with a sigh Sniper let his head fall back against the mattress.

“You did well today, Joey.”

A beat, and then a cocky laugh as the bed bounced and dipped when the other Sniper fell onto it.

“Not well enough to discard the nickname, apparently. You’re never going to drop that, are ya?”

“Nope.”

“We’re the same age, you know.”

“You’re still just a ‘roo to me in this business.”

The greenhorn repositioned himself and rested so that he was on his side, head resting in one hand.

“I’ll catch up before you know it.”

“And then?”

He didn’t know why he asked; such an answer wouldn’t have bothered him in the past. The future itself didn’t hold much weight, because people like them had one of two choices: die slowly or die painfully. No one ever died _peacefully_ in their sleep, and the matter of when was sooner rather than later. People came and people went, and it was a fact that a person either adjusted, ignored or abused, otherwise it drove a man insane. If they were already there, then that wasn’t the issue they tended to be concerned about. Sniper didn’t know if he was crazy, but he sensed he was close to that edge for beginning to care about someone other than himself. After coming this far, lying to himself would have been a worse fate to endure.

To his confusion, the other man didn’t respond at first, but instead switched off the light and plunged the entire RV into darkness. That didn’t seem to bother either of them; their night vision was exceptional. The novice leant forward then, his forehead almost touching Sniper’s, and his eyes managed to twinkle even in the dark.

“You’ll just have to find something else to teach me.”

In a way, Sniper looked forward to it.

-Fin-


End file.
